


Hesitant Hands Make Small Flames

by TheEarlyKat



Series: The March Across Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Eventual Relationships, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, as in very slow build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:12:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEarlyKat/pseuds/TheEarlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Leverette Cousland wanted was a puppy and to know his mother's name. He never thought those two wishes would bring him to the end of the world. </p><p>A story about the Hero of Ferelden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest this is something I'm doing on a whim after making several small one-shots with my Dragon Age characters on Tumblr with some goading from a few friends. Everything here is mainly for my amusement, but if you want to join along for the ride I won't stop you.

Leverette had never heard his father speak about his mother before. He sometimes guessed he thought about her when Christopher would pause in front of plates covered more in scratches than painted flowers or gaze across the lake their small cottage looked over outside Denerim. His eyes would mist and his perpetual frown would thin for just a moment before he shook himself from the memory and resumed his task. Leverette had never bothered to ask his father about his mother. He never felt the need to – they had a large enough cottage in a large enough city with a large enough business selling his wares and polishing shoes. His father always did the laundry, his father always tried at cooking, and Leverette gave the other boys outside the city wide eyes and raised eyebrows when they asked why his mother wasn’t doing these chores. 

The day Leverette heard her name was a day he wished had never come.

\---------------------------

“Soup,” Christophe called, pulling the pot from the open fire with a towel wrapped around his hand. He snapped it off his arm to wipe the soup leaking from thin cracks before filling a pair of bowls. He placed one on the opposite side of the table with a thump loud enough to be heard even from upstairs. A pounding of feet echoed after the sound and a wiry shape skidded through the threshold of the kitchen. Christophe lifted heavy brows. 

“There’s a mabari,” Leverette breathed. When his father only watched him, the boy pointed to make his words clearer. “They found a mabari in th’ fields. It’s got puppies in Larson’s cabbages!” Christophe shook his head and the pointed hand lowered to his thigh with a slap. His fingers curled into the loose fabric of his trousers. “Whose gonna take care of ‘em?”

“Larson?” the man suggested with a shrug. He tapped the bowl against the table again but Leverette continued to hover by the door, knees pressed together and bony hands knotted in his pants. 

“Larson says he’ll take care of ‘em but Aaron says that’s not what he means an’ we all know what he means when he says that.” He rocked forward on his toes and lowered his voice to keep it from trembling. “We can’t let Larson kill ‘em.” 

“Thems the ways,” Christophe said, and Leverette bit the inside of his cheek to keep from protesting. 

The boy hesitated, finally untangling his fingers from his pants to clutch at the wood of the doorframe, rocking back and forth between the bare wooden floors of the cottage on his toes and the faint tickle of grass growing between the cracked stones of the steps. His teeth worried the bit of skin of his cheek and he dragged himself the rest of the way into the kitchen. His father handed him a spoon and he didn’t move to take it. “Can I tell Aaron I can’t play no more? See the puppies before Larson come back from his shed?” The spoon wobbled in front of him. 

“Eat faster than Larson walks,” his father finally allowed, and Leverette yanked the spoon from his hand to shovel the soup in his mouth. He burned his tongue more than once on steaming carrots and potatoes, but the pain numbed any further burns. He spilled more than he got into his mouth and the collar of his roughspun tunic was dyed a faint yellow when he finally slammed the mostly empty bowl back onto the table. His father didn’t have time to sigh his disapproval before he was running out the door once more, meal sloshing uncomfortably in his stomach. 

The thought of the mabari pups churned his dinner something more unbearable and Levy raced past the fences between farms without looking to see if the elderly couple were milking their cows before they retired for the night, asleep even before the sun bid the day farewell. The loose rocks in the path didn’t slow him and he wiped away the tears that formed at the sting in the soles of his bare feet. 

It was good to run nonetheless. The farms outside Denerim turned the wide, rolling hills, all shades of green and yellow and brown. Leverette vaulted a fence that marked the edge of Larson’s corn field, briefly enjoying the wind that tugged at his shoulder length hair when it caught in his curls and pumped his legs faster when it was fear that tugged at his heart as soon as he crossed. The pups would not know what jumping fences was like or the sharp slap of corn on their faces when they raced as fast as they could through the mazes. Everyone – even dogs – deserved at least that. 

“Get on now, all of ya,” Larson shooed just as Leverette stumbled out from between a bundle of stalks. He pressed tight between the corn, trying to hold in his heavy pants when he spotted the shovel in the older man’s thin arms. His son, Aaron, stood in front of the mess of cabbages and blood a handful of pups whimpered in. The mother growled. “She’ll bite ya know. Be better to get away before she do.” The stalks were rough against his soft hands as Levy clung tighter to them, afraid for the fate of the puppies but terrified of what might happen to him. 

“She’ll bite ‘cause ya’ wanna take ‘em away!” Aaron shot back, arms still flung protectively out despite the tremors that ran through his skinny bones. Leverette wished he were half so brave, hiding amongst the grain. “It ain’t there fault they was born as they needs their momma! You can’t be takin’ ‘em!” Leverette hissed as a sharp leaf rubbed wrong on his hand and sucked on the thin bead of red welting on the edges of the cut. Aaron risked a glance away from his father and raised his brows at the boy. “Tell ‘em, Levy! They gotta have a momma.”

The shovel was still raised high and Leverette shook under its shadow. “They do needs their mom but if you don’t want ‘em that don’t mean you should kill ‘em. I don’t have no momma and I do just fine.” He swallowed around a lump in his throat, made from memories of his father’s hard look and harder ‘no’. He wanted to be brave. He could hide a puppy somewhere. Mabari were smart. If he told the pup to stay quiet, it would. 

The shadow receded and the shovel was lowered. Leverette watched Larson scratch at the back his neck. “I just don’t want ‘em in my fields, alright? I don’t care where they go so as long as they ain’t staying here.” The edge of the shovel dug into the ground, point hidden in the drying soil, and the mabari’s ears flicked, hackles relaxing. Her puppies whimpered and pawed at her stomach. Larson lifted his eyes from the litter to look hard at the several children gathered. “Not in my field, ya heard?” Aaron took the meaning and lowered himself to his dog’s side and encouraged her to let him move them. Leverette moved to help him and giggled when the one in his arms licked at his thumb. Aaron nudged him with his elbow, hands too full of squirming fur. 

“Good thing you come back, right?” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “With the momma thing. Pa pro’ly got sorry.” Leverette glanced down at the puppy and ran a finger down its back. He hadn’t thought much about the words coming from his mouth as long as it kept everyone safe. Aaron nudged him harder. “Ya gonna take ‘em? When he’s older?”  
His arms warmed at the thought and the small mabari squirmed uncomfortably in his hold. Leverette bit the inside of his cheek. “If he lets me,” he answered, wondering if he was talking about the puppy or his father.

He was reluctant to let go when they reached the barn behind the corn fields, afraid he’s never see the puppy again. The mother rounded them up, tapping each on the head with her nose as if counting before she curled up and let them suckle. Leverette raised himself on the tips of his toes to catch one last peak before Aaron closed the stall door.   
“You still playin’ with us?”

Leverette shook his head. “I only told papa I was comin’ out to say bye ‘cause he don’t want no mabari…” He cast another glance over his shoulder when Aaron guided him out and the other boy laughed. 

“He can’t say so no if it likes ya, right?” Leverette’s answering smile wavered and Aaron slapped him on the back. “You can seem ‘em tomorrow, right?” He nodded, frown disappearing. Even if he was allowed a dog, they were too small to take from their mother anyway. There was time for convincing. 

He was too impatient to wait for the pups to grow up. He ran for home, not wanting to waste more time for Christophe to wonder where he was, with a better argument just waiting on the tip of his tongue. His bowl was still sitting on the table when he returned, his father washing the other dishes in a tub, and raised his eyes at Leverette with a pointed look. The boy gathered up the congealed remains of his soup and found a rag to wipe it down. 

“Papa-”

“I said no.”

Leverette paused, mouth still open. “I didn’t even say-”

“Larson came up the way and said what you say. It’s still no.”

“But if it i-” He whined when the shake of Christophe’s head cut him off and he had to stop himself from rubbing at his eyes with soap-covered hands. “I saved ‘em. Don’t that mean something?”

Christophe shrugged. “Maybe but it don’t mean you keep ‘em.” 

“They won’t get their momma once they’re old ‘nough,” Leverette tried once more, thin hands clenching under the water when he dumped the bowl beneath the suds hard enough to make a splash. “Someone’s gotta take care of ‘em!” He glanced up at his father, face flushing in both frustration and shame. He should have kept his mouth shut. Even his arms were going red. 

“Someone will. Not me or…you.” Christophe hesitated, watching the water and Leverette dropped his gaze to look as well, glad to have something to focus on when cowardice forced his head down and unshed tears turned everything blurry. 

The water was warm, not hot, but still steam rose from the surface. Christophe had pulled his hands out but Leverette didn’t feel the heat. When he lifted his hands from the tub, his fingers were red and Leverette swore he heard a name whispered under his breath.


	2. Chapter 2

The deep violet hours between the misty night and vibrant dawns held all sorts of secrets. Foxes hurried under what remained of the cover of moonlight to their holes in the ground, jaws full of rodents for kits, bats silently screeched their aversion to the coming light, owls flapped to their hidden burrows in trees twisted gnarly shapes by their shadows, and boys closed their doors as quietly as their wooden creaks allowed. 

Leverette carefully pulled the bowl from the nook of his elbow to hold it more firmly in his hands once the door was shut as closed as he dared. A second squeak from opening it would ruin his chance. He edged, barefoot, around the small cottage to the fields not yet tamed by a farmer’s sickle. The tall grasses and wild wheat hid another secret of the night – a miniature house; its roof slanted sideways a show of haste and a rough sanding for emphasis. Leverette knelt at the entrance and whistled low.   
A puppy stuck its head out, an ear flat against its head from sleeping, until it shook itself at the sight of the boy and the bowl. Its muzzle opened into a panting grin and a few hearty licks turned into a welcoming bark. 

“Leuce, no, no,” Leverette hushed, nearly dropping the bowl trying to quiet the mabari with a scratch behind its ear. “You’ll wake Papa.” The puppy pulled back only to lick the worried lines from his face and Leverette giggled. “I wanted to give you this before he woke up. I don’t think there’s time after.” It was only a scoopful of oats but it was the only kind of breakfast Leverette had been able to gather, and after finding the remains of some rabbit or another a few days earlier, he was sure the dog could hunt something if he didn’t like it. 

The dog sniffed at the offered meal and Leverette pulled it just out of reach with a small smile, growing wider the long he concentrated on it. It came as a flush on his face first, like the first time, and the heat poured from his cheeks down to arms to settle as a pulsing red on the edge of his fingertips. Leverette sucked in a deep breath before letting it out slowly and the air tasted like smoke and lightening charged rain on his tongue. He let the magic die out when steam curled lazily from the oats. 

The grin stayed on his face even as the magic left his fingers, a faint tingle all that was left of the heat in his hands. He had been practicing in the months since his father whispered his mother’s name like a curse when he heated the dish water in his anger. He didn’t understand the fear that came with it, but Leverette knew enough not to practice so outright. It had been nearly a year and the late night attempts had resulted in only the ability to heat nothing more than a spoonful of gruel – and he loved it despite the slow progress. He loved the storm that raged about his heart when he called on the Fade, he revealed in those few seconds it took to grab a firm hold of the raging powers and force it into a semblance of thought. He loved the smoky taste it left on his lips and the electricity that formed between his fingers before every cast. How could any of that beauty be worth that fear in his father’s eyes?

Leuce seemed to agree when he lunged for the warm bowl, long tongue making quick work of the meal. Despite the lack of actual dog food, the mabari choked it down with enough enthusiasm to spill it everywhere from Leverette hands to the ground. Leverette shoved the puppy’s face away when a breath heavy with the stench of drool and stale oats warned of another face licking and he gave the dog a long rubdown before wiping his hands on his night pants. 

Leuce’s head turned and his tongue lolled out, ears pricked forward, and Leverette shifted on his bent knees to find a light slowly flicker into being inside the house. It was hard to keep these visits so short when they came few and far between, but the panic of being caught made it easy to separate. They’d never be able to see each other if they were found out. He jumped to his feet, knees cracking at the sudden change in position, and Leuce bounded after him when he moved to leave. 

Leverette placed a hand on his head, fingers digging into the soft fur just above his neck. The wide brown eyes that looked up at him were familiar but they held little sway on him now, not like the first few times the mabari followed him back to the house. Leverette had been tempted to try to sneak him into his room, until the dog’s nails scratched against the wood. He’d dragged a chair across the kitchen and kicked a leg until it chipped to cover the damage before his father found it in the morning. 

“Stay, remember?” Leuce whined and Leverette hushed him with another curl of his fingers. He could see his father made his way from the upper bedrooms to the kitchen below and fear turned his blood to ice, a cold his magic wouldn’t be able to save him from. “Noon, right?” he said, a rush when the lantern light descended and threw shadows outside from the still open door. 

Christophe’s broad frame met him at the threshold, one hand holding the lantern and pushing the door open, the other scratching idly at a patch of stubble on his cheek. Leverette raised a hand to block out the sudden light and dropped his gaze to his feet. He didn’t need to see his father’s face to feel the weighty look directed at him and he shifted uneasily at the unvoiced question between them. 

“I thought I saws somethin’,” Leverette answered, muttering in his shirt with his chin tucked tight against his chest. His shoulders hunched against the continued stare.

“Find it?” was the reply given, a surprised grunt that Leverette shook his head at. He’d grown no braver since the first stand-off between Larson and Aaron, finding it easier to hide from dangers than confront them. Christophe stepped back, pushing the door open a little wider and stuck his head out the frame to sweep his gaze out over the fields. The rising sun was just beginning to give the wheat its golden color but the shadows beneath the stalks hid everything below, keeping Leuce safe for one night more. Leverette let out a held breath when his father finally closed the door. “We’ll put a trap out, yeah?” Leverette held his breath again and breakfast was made. 

There was no question about the bowls already taken from the cabinets or the opened container of oats, though Christophe did pause at each unusual thing, and the day continued as every other day. Leverette weeded their small garden and collected the eggs from their chickens before running off to find Aaron and his brothers. They milked their cows and goats, rolled out new hay for the horses, and raided the old couple’s fields for berries missed in the morning’s harvesting. When the sun reached its peak and the fields grew hazy with the heat, Leverette returned home to snatch a meal and a half from lunch that day and skirted around the cottage to feed Leuce with a quick pat and a reminder of “tonight.”

“Did your pa find ‘em yet?” Aaron asked when he returned. He flicked a stick against his knee with every step they took down the dirt road between their houses. 

“No, but I’m ‘fraid he will. I almost got found out t’day but I told papa I was jus’ hearing things.” Leverette had to swallow hard and the stick was whacked against his shoulder. He rubbed at the sting. “Says he was gonna lay traps.”

“They’s smart,” his friend said. “He hasn’t run away, yeah? Even though you’ve had him outside ‘cause you’ve told him to stay. He can stay away from the traps.” Aaron kicked at a rock and nudged it further down the road when Leverette didn’t. Leverette kicked it the second time and Aaron chased after it. He wasn’t feeling much in the mood for another game but Aaron was already down the road and out of earshot and Leverette knew he wouldn’t want to hear his whining. 

They took turns kicking the stone as hard as they could, chasing it every so often into the fields bordering the path to dislodge it from the weeds and put it back on the dirt, once having to look for a new rock entirely, until they reached Aaron’s farm. It was a farm if Leverette’s house could be called a lodge. There were fields for wheat and fields for corn, fences keeping cows, goats, and horses near the barn, and gardens greener than the river flowed in the wet seasons. The stone knocked against the door of the barn and set the mabari inside to howling. 

“They need feeding too,” Aaron said, and motioned for Leverette to head inside before him. 

The blond shoved the door open with his shoulder and wiped the chips of paint off his tunic. He sneezed at the cloying mixture of dust, hay, and fur, earning another round of loud barking. The loudest, a deep, low, sound warned him of the mother and the few puppies yet to be adopted she protected, large enough to not be puppies exactly. Her noises turned to soft whines when Leverette neared, sticking a hand out for her to lick. The door screeched when it was opened again and he turned. 

“Ma forgot to cook it again,” Aaron muttered as he walked in, arms laden with a tray full of meat. “You know where the matches are, yeah?” He jerked his head in the direction of the small brazier in the corner of the room, screwed to the floor and covered with a grate to keep the flames inside. 

Leverette eyed the raw meat and his fingers twitched. They didn’t need a whole fire for the tray, he thought. He wanted to try. He’d only been warming up oats and though he was getting faster at it, he’d never learn anything beyond it. He held is arms out. “I wanna try something.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College started up again this week and I didn't have much time to really type anything out. A sort of short update to keep things moving while I re-adjust to the new schedule. I can't believe I'm actually enjoying this.

Leverette could feel the heat in the palms, but it was a soft breath of warm air barely more than the natural warmth of his hands compared to the deep chill of the tray. Chips of ice still slid across the surface to melt in cold puddles. He had no idea where to begin – heat the tray or heat the meat? – and no clue just how much energy to put into it. A cup of oats took little more than a push of concentration and a deep breathe that left his lungs burning for more and a cramping in his fingers. What would it take to heat up pounds of frozen meat?

“We’re gonna get flies an’ they’re all gonna go into your mouth,” Aaron laughed, moving forward to take the tray back. 

Leverette pulled away, tucking the platter towards his chest and gagging when the smell of raw meat wafted up. “No – just, just hold on.” His arms were beginning to shake – either from the weight of the mabari’s meal or the effort it took to find the amount of magic needed to keep his hands warm.

Aaron’s pudgy cheeks puffed in his pout but he dropped his arms, hands swinging at his sides for a moment longer. “A’ight, I’ll find them matches.” 

Leverette only bit his lip, worrying at the skin and whimpering when his teeth broke through. His shoulders trembled while his fingertips grew redder and he managed a smile until he felt blood well at the edges of the cut and leak over. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip to catch it. 

There was a scuffing of feet on the floor, a bang, and Aaron held up the box of matches with a grin. Leverette turned, his smile widening when the tray heated up in his palms. “We don’t need ‘em,” he called, and presented the slowly cooking meat to his friend. 

The dogs started barking and Aaron took a step back, clutching the box to his chest. Leverette could feel the uncertainty as harsh as the heat gathering further in his palms, the Fade whispering of fearful things that were reflected in wavering hazel eyes. A name was whispered, so soft and low and echo he would not have caught it wasn’t spoken with such dread and Leverette flinched. Aaron dropped the matches and Leverette could only wonder if his friend had heard. The fear was the same – face white and eyes wide, mouth open just ready to cry out if they could find the breath to beneath the tightness of the his throat and he didn’t understand why it was so scary. He was helping. He was feeding the dogs. He was saving the matches and saving Aaron from a scolding and what was so scary about that?

His hands curled tight around the tray and he gasped when he finally felt the heat. Aaron finally let loose the shout that had been forming and Leverette dropped the platter when his hands burst into flame. It didn’t burn but it was scary and he shook his arms hard to douse them. 

The magic did not leave him with a comforting tingle. His hands did not remain pleasantly warm. Levertte’s skin itched, his fingertips felt cracked and the Fade was snapped shut with a puff of sulfur and electricity. A wisp of smoke curled from a burnt edge of bone and Leverette couldn’t take the scent anymore. He fled from the barn, shoving the door open with a shoulder, too afraid to touch anything with his hands still hot – or maybe it was the shame that made his knuckles red – before Aaron could say anything else. He tripped over a rut in the road and a rock when skittering down the path. 

Leuce was a wriggling mass of fur when Leverette skirted the edges of the fields and threw himself forward to greet the mabari. Leuce poked his nose into every nook his cranny, cold against his elbows and armpits and the back of his knees, but it earned a cracked laugh beneath his choked-back tears. The dog left its muzzle on his shoulder when it found no food, but his stubby tail worked fast enough to rock Leverette back and forth. Leverette scratched him behind his ear before curling his fingers deep into his ruff. He focused on the scuff of his chipped nails against the short fur rather than the tears pricking at his eyes. 

Aaron had been afraid. His best friend – flinched away. The pale face and wide eyes were somehow worse than the reaction his father had given him. Even the dogs didn’t like it, their mad barking still ringing in his ears. 

“You’re not scared?” Leverette asked, and he lifted his face from the dog’s fur to look for any signs of a curled lip showing a war flash of teeth of paws digging deep into the mud with ready claws. Leuce licked his face again and Leverette rubbed away the slobber with his wrist. There was a rush of relief and he gave the mabari another pat. How could the dog he was risking so much to keep ever hate him?

Leverette rose to his feet and slapped the dirt and clinging grass from his pants. He still had to go find dinner for Leuce before his father came back from the stall in the city proper. His feet didn’t drag through the weeds on the short walk back to the house, his mood lifted with the reassurance. He wondered if, by tomorrow, Aaron would forget or even accept his magic and they’d still be able to play when their chores were done. The elderly couple had just planted a new row of blackberry bushes and Aaron always knew how best to avoid the thorns. 

There was talking in the kitchen. 

Leverette hesitated outside the door and edged to the window, drawing his lip between his teeth. He traded it for the inside of his cheek when he lifted himself on the tips of his toes to peer over the sill and into the room. No one was supposed to be home. The last weeks of the summer harvests were always spent in the markets, selling crops or trading wares for patched equipment, buying new tools when there was coin to spend after the new seeds were purchased. Most of the town was out during this time, only returning well after dark, but through the dirt and pollen stained window, Leverette watched his father cross his arms across his chest while Larson jabbed a finger in his direction.   
Leverette ran back to the makeshift dog house.


	4. Chapter 4

Leverette couldn’t hear the yelling from the back of the house, couldn’t see the pointed finger and the hurried steps forward from where his face was buried in his dog’s fur, but he could hear when the door was thrown open and Larson stomped down the path back to his farm. Leuce growled low, Leverette’s cheeks buzzing with the vibrations, and he put a hand over the dog’s muzzle to quiet him. He’d lost a friend – maybe even his father if Aaron had told Larson what he’d seen. He didn’t want to lose his puppy too. 

The door screeched open again, hinges worn from the sudden abuse, and Leverette crawled closer to Leuce, digging his fingers deep into fur and pressing his face tight into the scent of dirt and mud, for a second that felt far too short before pulling away. He couldn’t let Christophe see him. He stood, ordered the mabari with a wave at the wheat, and tried his best to rub away the fur sticking to his tear-stained face. 

He couldn’t drag his gaze up from the dirt when his father stopped in front of him. He lifted his eyes high enough to find his dirt coated boots before shame and guilt weighed too heavily on his shoulders and he dropped his chin to tuck it against his chest. He worried the inside of his lip but Christophe remained silent. Leverette dug the toe of his shoe into the grass. 

“I was jus’ tryin’ to help,” Leverette mumbled, even his tongue laden with remorse. His throat was dry, raw from trying to keep his tears silent while he hid. “It were for the dogs.” He fidgeted, toes digging deeper, and he hoped it was enough of an explanation. 

Grass crunched and Leverette flinched when his father crouched down. He didn’t resist, only whimpered, when Christophe took his chin and lifted his head to make him meet his eyes. There was a breath of silence before he spoke, grip firm but gentle, and Leverette risked one glance at his face and didn’t understand the lack of a hard frown or furrowed brows. 

“I know,” Christophe said. Leverette swallowed and Christophe ruffled is hair before standing back up, knees popping. It was short, but it was all the words that were needed. Leverette unclenched his jaw and tasted copper from a rut his teeth had dug into his cheek and his thin shoulders dropped. Leverette wondered if it was just because he had magic like his mother. “Dinner,” Christophe called, and the boy headed after him, legs shaky with left over worry. 

\----------------------

Leverette hadn’t expected Aaron to grab him after his chores were done, shouting his name breathlessly after having run across the farms as soon as the rake or scythe was out of his hands, calling out the time for their mischief. Not that Leverette let the boy get in too much trouble, more out his own fear of the consequences than his friend’s if he was honest. The quiet of the late afternoon, a never-ending buzz of crickets and cicadas broken only by the occasional bay of sheep or rarer cart wheel bouncing in a rut still left his heart heavy and his shoulders heavier. His hands stayed by his sides when he walked from room to room in the small house, though he wrung them whenever he passed his father’s room. Christophe may have been gone for the last few days of the harvesting season to Denerim, but the thought of him being home at some point kept shadow over his thoughts. He was going to be angry one of these days. 

He’d only used his magic for a few seconds – a minute at most – but the memory stretched on for what felt like hours. The wide eyes of his best friend, trained on the fire in his palms, always lasted the longest. It was no wonder Aaron didn’t want to see him, not with how much fear had been in his eyes. 

It had been foolish, Leverette decided, for him to believe Aaron would forget. It was even more foolish for him to believe Aaron would even want to talk him again. Leverette couldn’t keep from checking out the window, though, or running to the door at every sound louder than the insects outside. 

He bit his lip. Maybe Aaron did want to see him. Larson was angry; he could keep Aaron from leaving the farm and seeing him. If Aaron did want to, there would be nothing stopping his friend once the sun began sinking in favor of the moons. Sneaking was his best trait. Leverette eat when his father returned home, stealing a bit of the bread and potatoes for when he fed Leuce, and settled in his room with a candle burning to wait. 

The flickering light brought shadows to the doorstep. The candle was burning low, turning his small room into a mess of darkness thrown up on the walls from the bed and closet barely made out in the growing gloom the dying light no longer had a strength to penetrate. Aaron had done it! He’d escaped and come to tell him that they were still friends and today was all Larson’s fault. They could play again tomorrow. Leverette would apologize and promise not to scare him again – even if it meant leaving his magic only for the risky escapes to Leuce – and they’d play again tomorrow. 

His hands shook as he tore the wool sheet off his bed and Leverette had to kick his feet free before he could escape. In the daytime when there chores, little as they may be, the time to miss his friend wasn’t as long as the nights. He was all too ready to run to the door and greet Aaron, but when he threw his bedroom door open he smacked into Christophe with a cry. 

A hand slapped against his mouth and Leverette shouted his protest until his father forced his chin up with a jerk of his hand, less gentle and more painful than the motion from that evening. Christophe’s eyes were different too. They shone bright with a wetness Leverette was more afraid to see than the anger that flashed behind the threat of tears, and he flinched away as far as he could with the fingers still digging into his jaw. Leverette could feel his pulse beating hard and fast under his father’s grip. 

“Stay,” Christophe hissed, and Leverette moved back to press himself tight against the wall, knees almost giving way when his shoulders bumped into the wood. He knew his father was going to be mad at some point, but this was worse than he could ever imagine. 

Christophe stormed past him, his other hand lifting up to wipe furiously at his face before facing the door. Both of them jumped at the pounding that came from outside, Leverette squeaking and Christophe spitting out a curse. Leverette slipped around back into his room when his father turned his eyes back on him. 

A rattling of metal echoed in the night and he heard wood crack along with another shout from Christophe. The door snapped as it forced open and heavy boots rang out on the floor, one pair, then two, then three. Leverette ran to his bed and threw himself onto the straw matters, yanking the blanket back over his head despite the sweat that broke across his back and brow. 

“Amell,” came a gruff voice, too calm for the hour of the night. 

“You don’t-”

“There has been a reporting,” the man went on, disregarding Christophe’s protest. There was another clink of mail and Leverette pulled his pillow over his head when his father made a pained noise, “We hold the right to search your house and remove any artifacts or persons of magical ability. Refusal will not be tolerated.”


	5. Chapter 5

The cold metal clamped tight around his ankle was the worst pain Leverette ever knew. It was worse than the pitchfork tine he’d stepped on, worse than the kick of the horse to his stomach, despite no bled shed. The roar of blood pounding in his ears and fear screaming in his veins didn’t have to be caused by an injury to make his scream and twist and sob. He was being taken away. His home, his father, his maybe friend, and dog were all going to be ripped away. He clawed at the sheet when his leg was tugged, hard, and he tumbled to the floor, face already a mess of tears. 

“Quiet,” the armored man towering over him rumbled, but Leverette couldn’t help the pleas for help that bubbled up in his raw throat. He’d only wanted a puppy. He’d just wanted to give Leuce’s family a warm meal, maybe show Aaron how he finally had some worth on the farm when he was too scrawny and too weak to help in the fields. This wasn’t what he wanted, and he kicked his ankles against the rough floorboards, the slivers that caught in the thick skin there nothing compared to the panic that still pained him with every heartbeat, to get away. Silver flashed, a sword imbedded in a sheet of metal glowing white in the still burning candle, and electricity crashed against his nerves like a storm.   
It wasn’t the warm tingle of his magic. It wasn’t soft and comforting like the heat he only just learned to pool between his palms. It crackled with a searing blaze against every layer of his skin, searching for the special parts of him that made the Fade bleed into his blood. There was little magic in him, not when there was little time to practice and even smaller thing to teach him, but the Smite found it all and the room spun. The heavy hand let go of his ankle in favor of his wrist and Leverette tasted bile in the back of his throat when he was lifted to his feet with preamble. He didn’t want to think what he’d feel like if he had more magic. 

The Templar let him run to his father after they dragged him from his room, and Leverette shoved his face against Christophe’s thigh. His father placed a hand on his head and didn’t mention the mess Leverette left on his night tunic. 

“Be strong,” he mumbled, cupping the back of his head. “We’ll have it sorted out.” Leverette hiccupped and swallowed the vomit back down with a shudder.   
“This was the boy Larson claimed?” the third Templar asked. Her helmet was off and rested between her clenched hand and her thigh. 

“Claimed,” the solider that had dragged him out repeated. Leverette shuddered at the sound of his voice. “He’s been claiming everything but the cows of magic since that Jowan kid.”

The woman shook her head. “Don’t tell me we’ve been ordered out here in the middle of the night for another false alarm.” She directed her glare at Christophe, and he lowered his gaze but kept his feet planted, tightening his fingers in Leverette’s hair. She turned her sharp on the first Templar and shifted her weight impatiently. 

The soldier took a step towards Leverette and he pressed closer against his father’s thigh, muffling his whimper against Christophe’s pants. His shoulders hunched, readying for another wave of the raw heat to burn through him, and Christophe ran his hand down his back to hide his trembling. The Templar spat. 

“Just some scared brat. I don’t trust Larson after the last time and I’m not giving him the satisfaction of carrying out another investigation for another dead end.” The woman gave an answering snort and kicked a kitchen chair over turning on her heel. Christophe’s eyes narrowed. 

“We’ll be keeping an eye out,” she warned, and the door slammed shut behind her.

It took Leverette a minute to find feeling in his fingers and force them to let go of the tight grip around his father’s thigh. Panic slowly ebbed out of him with each retreating stomp of metal boots that resounded with his heartbeat, the still night air filling back into the tense air of the house and chasing away the lingering fear and nausea still clinging to his skin. He rubbed his face against Christophe’s pants once more, finding the courage to take on the next few moments. 

A prayer fell from Christophe’s lips, a word, a name, and Leverette understood just how much trouble he was in. 

“Pack your things.” His father pushed him off with a step towards the door. “Quick.” He latched the door shut, not that it did much against the snapped hinges and cracked wood, but the sound of the bolt sliding into the latch provided the sensation of secrecy. Leverette jumped at the urgency in his tone and didn’t question the order. 

He didn’t want to be near any Templars either. He’d never personally experienced them himself until this night, but Leverette figured from the way his father would stiffen when they passed them in the streets or kept his attention on them during their visits to the Chantry on special holidays, that they weren’t as nice as the symbol of mercy pounded into their chest plates. Seeing them up close – they were scarier than those instances with his father had taught them. He thought he understood their need to leave, to get away from their threat. He didn’t know their flight came from his magic. 

Christophe gathered him and their satchels into his room, only slightly larger than Leverette’s own, when they collected their meager belongings. A set of pots clanked against a frame of a small painting when he pushed them into a corner; Leverette’s only held dolls and whatever coppers he occasionally found hiding in the dirt.   
“We leave in the morning,” Christophe said. Leverette wished they’d leave sooner, but the open arms his father gave him, allowing him to crawl into the bed next to him, was more comforting than a town or two between them and the soldiers.


	6. Chapter 6

Leverette peeked out around the corner and watched his father pace around the kitchen. He paused by the windows every pass or so to glance outside. Whether he found what he was searching for, Leverette didn’t know, but his clipped stride and tense movements were putting him on edge. 

Neither had been able to sleep after the break-in, Leverette too afraid of another regiment heading their way to close his eyes, Christophe’s mind abuzz with long forgotten memories he both tried to shove away and pull closer. The sun met them both with heavy hearts, but they weren’t slow in picking up their bags and searching the house once more. There was still enough adrenaline from the initial encounter and chances of further meetings to keep them quick on their feet. 

There wasn’t much more to do other than to wait for the best moment to leave unseen. Leverette wished there was – he wasn’t ready to leave. At first, the notion of escape was something of a relief. They were going to get as far from the Templars as they could and come back once they were sure the soldiers were far enough away, but as time went on Leverette was beginning to feel his plan wasn’t the same as his father’s. Christophe had shoved things Leverette didn’t think they’d need if they were gone for just a day or two – pictures and perishables – but leaving simple things that could have passed the time – such as Leverette’s books. 

He didn’t want to leave the house. It was small and it wasn’t in the best shape, but it was his. He’d woken up every day under the leaky roof of his bedroom, tripped down the stairs every morning he could remember, returned to dinner with stains of as many colors as the flowers that grew wildly just outside. He didn’t want anything else, but Christophe wasn’t providing his thoughts with comfort. He checked outside once more and gave the field a look over like he’d always known what he was supposed to find, and nodded to himself. The bag jangled when he threw it over his shoulder and Leverette scrambled to pick up his own in shaking hands. 

“Where we goin’?” Leverette asked, biting his lip and hoping his father would name someplace close. 

“Away,” was all he was given, and he resigned to it with a sag of his shoulders. 

His pack felt heavier and his feet scuffed against the floor when he followed his father outside. He tried to commit the sound to memory but the sorrow at never hearing it again drowned out the noise and Leverette was left blinking sluggishly at the wagon outside. It was normally reserved for the trips to the market, the bed laden with crops or feed or sellable wares, or else it was left sitting in the fields, untreated wood left for rot and seeds to take settlement in the cracks between the boards. 

The same fields Leuce was sleeping in, the wild grasses tall enough to obscure the lopsided dog house, twitching in his dreams until Leverette slunk out of the house to wake him for breakfast. 

Christophe took their packs and left to find the cows that pulled the wagon, and Leverette bit his lip, watching him retreat to the farms. He couldn’t leave his mabari to the Templars, but he had to hide him for a reason. Leverette shifted on the balls of his feet, knowing the chance was now. His father would be angry, angrier than he’d ever seen him most like, but it would be nothing compared to the wrath of the soldiers – if last night was any indication.

Leverette shoved off from the wagon and raced around the house. 

His footsteps weren’t quiet through the weeds and he puffed with each pant, a whimper occasionally escaping him in both fear and sorrow, and it wasn’t a surprise to see Leuce outside the tiny house, rolling in the dirt and shaking off the last of his dreams. Leverette didn’t think about whom else might have heard, and threw his skinny arms around his mabari’s neck. The wet tongue against his cheek wasn’t a comfort this time, only wasted previous seconds he couldn’t, maybe didn’t, and wanted to stop. 

“We gotta go,” Leverette whispered, twisting his fingers in the dog’s ruff. The slobbery kisses hesitated and he felt Leuce still his excited shaking, ears perked forward to catch the shake in the boy’s tone. “We’re leaving. You can’t stay here if we’re gone, right?” Leuce gave an answering ruff. 

Leverette pat his knees and Leuce followed after him, bounding through the weeds with excited yaps. He didn’t see a reason for anyone to be excited – escaping at dawn didn’t feel like the right time, at least – but he was confusedly calmed at the thought that at least one of them found a bright side. 

They neared the front of the house and the cows gave a nervous bay at the scent of dog. Leverette pawed at Leuce to quiet him. If he could just sneak Leuce into the back of the wagon…

“C’mon,” Christophe called. He sat atop the wagon, rope leads in his hand, a foot dangling between the leather strips holding the frame to the cows. Leverette stepped forward, pushing Leuce behind him, and dragged his toes in the dirt when he shifted forward. Christophe’s brows drew together, a shadow falling over lined eyes. Leverette ducked his head lower, hunching his shoulders. 

“Papa-”

“Leave him.” Christophe’s grip on the ropes had tightened, knuckles going white, but he kept his voice low; they still had to be quiet. 

There was a bite to the command that Leverette expected but it stung nonetheless and he found himself copying his father’s defensive posture: clenched hands and furrowed brows. “Why?”

“Same reasons I told ya ‘fore,” Christophe answered. He wasn’t looking at his son any longer and that almost hurt more than the clipped words spoken through clenched teeth. “If we can’t take care of the gals how we going to take care of a dog?”

“I was taking care of ‘em,” Leverette mumbled. Leuce shoved his head against the inside of his knee and the boy stumbled forward a step. He tried to push the mabari away but Leuce moved forward again. 

“We’re going. Leave him.” 

Leverette didn’t feel the next bump against his leg and he fell forward onto his hands and knees. Leuce wiggled around him and he didn’t know he was crying until Leuce licked them from his face. 

“I saved him, Papa! Larson was gonna kill them!” Now the Templars were going to do the job because his father wasn’t going to let Leuce come with them. He’d saved the mabari and it was going to end the same way after all. He’d just tried to feed them and people were after them. He’d just wanted to help – 

It was the magic inside him. The magic that warmed Leuce’s meals and tried to cook his siblings’ brought this on. It made Aaron scared. It made Larson yell. It made the Templars come and the need to run. If he didn’t have it…if he never used it, he could have his farm, his friend, his dog. 

His hands were hot in the dirt. His fingers burned, not as harsh and nauseating as the Templar fire that tore through his veins and ripped his magic apart from the inside out. That fire was missing the electric tingle that raised the hairs on his arms almost pleasantly, that left a taste that was both bitter and sweet on his tongue, but his fire was hot and if he tried hard enough he could make it burn away. 

Leuce was gone, pressing close to the wagon but away from the cows that stomped and snorted uneasily when fire burst from his fingers and clawed its way up his arms. It brought warmth to his skin but it didn’t _burn_ , and it rose to his shoulders as Leverette squeezed his eyes shut. Christophe shouted his name and jumped to the ground, eyes wild and face pale. An arm was outstretched but the fire kept him at bay. 

“We have to go! Now!”

Leverette shook his head and embers smoldered in his hair. Not until he couldn’t lose everything ever again.

A door slammed open from down the road, the elder couple across the way awoken by the noise. Christophe knew how much time they had left and he braced himself before rushing forward and yanking Leverette’s arm to pull him to his feet.

“No!” Leverette screamed, high and wild, and fire raced from his feet in all directions, cracks of light mirroring the fractures in his heart as he was tugged from his home. The weeds caught aflame and Leverette cried. 

Christophe tossed him into the back of the wagon and pressed his burned hand close to his chest while gathering up the ropes in his other. The elderly couple ran back inside. Leverette saw the field catch flame and the world blurred into one shade of orange.


	7. Chapter 7

The trees of Brecilian Forest crowned the hills beyond Denerim like shadows. The stories about the beings living under their wide canopies were just as dark. The children in the city, and the villages surrounding, were told of the twisted forms of elves that wandered too long, too far from their camps and took unruly little boys and girls to feed themselves to keep them from staying out past dark. Farmers blamed poor harvests on spiders the size of horses. The wolves that howled late at night reminded them all of the dark magic that filled the forests and kept them away from the trees, close to main roads and never daring to go beyond the outer reaches of the fields of Denerim. 

The stories, forgotten wisps of hushed warnings and friends trying to out-spook each other, sprang to memory as they neared. The escape from the farm had taken all day and the growing gloom did nothing to help the sight of the towering trunks with their over-reaching branches like claws. Leverette lowered himself below the edge of the wagon’s walls, the pounding of his heart so loud and forceful he barely felt the splinters that snagged in his palms. Leuce wriggled to his side, whimpering his approach, and Leverette reached out for him blindly, too afraid to risk a glance away from the trees in case the monsters from the stories were hiding in the shadows of the leaves. Leuce licked at the splinters until on fell out. 

Christophe nudged the cows forward under the canopy with a crack of the rope. The animals moved forward uneasily, shifting on their hooves before starting forward again, tails flicking at nervous spasms in their flanks. If his father wasn’t afraid of the woods, Leverette thought it silly of him to be so. His father had been the one to warn him of the elves with their eyes – specially Maker-made – to find children that didn’t behave and drag them to their camps, like every other parent in the village. Every child knew the story had to be made up, not that any would test its authenticity, but his father’s confidence had him peeking back over the edge of the cart. 

Nothing stopped them in their tracks, but Leverette was quick to notice that some things were jumping out of their way as they approached. The movements were hard to miss unless he was already looking in the same direction and it was almost as frightening as the stories. Bushes rustled at fleeing animals and once he could have sworn a whole tree shifted. Lights flickered around them, small and as unassuming as fireflies that followed the cart when they moved deeper and deeper into the trees. 

Christophe still never paused. There was no hesitation on his face when the cows came to a split in the road. A furrowed brow an a tight frown was all that met the fork in the road hidden by overgrown grass and wildflowers, concentration showing as wrinkles around his eyes, before he chose a path and his face cleared until they had to make another turn. It was strange to him how his father always knew where to go, but Leverette didn’t ask. He was afraid to make a noise at all, afraid that if he brought any sort of attention to himself his father would remember he was there and the reason why they were there in the forest at all. Christophe had been angry in the beginning. His shouts weren’t the worst – it was the quiet rage that Leverette was worried about. It was the stiffness in his shoulders, the tight grip of the reins that brought the veins in his arms to the surface. His father did not show anger with words, but with action, and another sharp crack of the rope had him flinching and wondering if it would be just the cows that received the punishment. 

Christophe was not angry now – at least not at his son. His jaw was set in an angry sort of determination. The paths they took now were the same, if not fainter and filled more with rocks and weeds and insects than before, as they’d been when he was years younger and with another mage. An Orlesian. A woman. He had given up everything for her – his home, his name, his freedom – to have her by his side. They’d run from Orlais together, across Fereldan, into the forests no one dared to enter, in the faint hopes they’d wait out the chase that came with the escape from any Circle. 

They’d tried to form some kind of life there, with a cabin barely big enough for the two of them and hesitant trips to the city not nearly as often as they needed to, until she’d whispered a name and Christophe knew they’d need someplace bigger, someplace better, to raise a child. 

It was still smaller, perhaps smaller than he remembered now that he was older. The wooden roof had collapsed with time and rain and fungus grew from between the stones of the wall. It had his frown deepening as they neared.  
Leverette thought it looked like the place the monsters from the stories would live. Christophe stopped the wagon just before it but Leverette stayed, hiding in the back, Leuce pressed close for comfort. It was just large enough for one of the giant spiders to set up a nest, and signs of disuse had him wondering what else might have claimed the ruin for a home.  
Leverette wasn’t happy at all when Christophe slipped to the ground. How his father knew about the place was another mystery he would hold onto until he thought he wouldn’t be scolded further. Why they would even want to stay here was another question, but he was afraid of another argument and he climbed out of the wagon on shaky legs. Leuce jumped out after him, ears pricked forward and nose to the ground, sniffing warily at the thick moss that covered every inch of the forest floor before moving forward to the house. The mabari paused, growled once, and lifted a leg to mark the corner. The boy wiped a growing smile off his face. At least his dog deemed the place safe. 

His father didn’t seem to share his humor. Christophe snapped at the dog and marched inside for check for any damage that might deem the cabin unusable. Leverette felt more confident with Leuce’s relaxed demeanor and his father’s lack of hesitation, and he followed them both inside. 

There were spider webs – normal sized ones – but no spiders that he could see. Nothing scampered out of the way at the sound of their footsteps, but crumbling walls had them kicking up chunks of fallen stone to skitter against the ground. There weren’t many corners to hide in and the fire Christophe lit in the hearth with the vines that tried to grow there chased away the darkest shadows to reveal their secrets. The place was only three rooms separated by one wall: a small kitchen and a sitting area on one side and a bedroom on the other. The sitting room only had one table and three rickety, chewed chairs; the bedroom one moth-eaten bed. What looked to have been a garden once outside was now filled with weeds and whatever brave vegetables that managed to find light in the brambles and bushes that choked them after years without proper care. 

And glowing eyes. 

Leverette pulled his head back through the window before he could identify which monster it was that haunted the garden. Footsteps tore through the bushes when it fled, the patter of quick feet almost keeping pace with his pounding heart. It wasn’t a spider or a wolf – Leverette’s eyes widened. He hadn’t been a good son – a good person. He stared at his hands and thought of the fire that consumed them. He’d burned his house down. He’d brought Templars upon the town. His fingers curled, nails digging into the meat of his palms. It was the elves. They’d come for him. They were going to take him away. He’d run away, been taken from his home just so he wouldn’t be taken from his father, to be stolen away nonetheless. At the Templars wouldn’t have eaten him. At least he’d saved Leuce. 

“They’re more afraid of you than you of them,” Christophe said, leaning out the back door. Only the frame was left. Time and termites had eaten the actual door and a breeze rolled in that made Leverette shiver. Christophe didn’t look at him when he spoke again. He couldn’t see his son beyond a smiling woman kneeling amongst the pumpkins with a hope in her eyes when she caught his glance. “We’re staying the night here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Merrill can be a temporary companion when going through the Dalish origin and since they're hiding out in the Brecilian forest, why not? Since she's only there for a short while in the game she'll most likely end up being written more like da2 Merrill than Origins.


End file.
